


Lynchpin

by inusagi



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s01e13 End of Days, Gen, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inusagi/pseuds/inusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack's gone, what's keeping them together? Post End of Days. Day 20 of the July TW Oneshot challenge (Posted late). Genfic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lynchpin

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sometimes, I’m tempted to claim them for my own and let the BBC sue me (You can’t get blood from a turnip!), but meh, that’s a lot of effort. So to be completely clear, I do not own Torchwood or its lovely, lovely characters.

Lynchpin [linch-pin]

 _n._  

 **2.** Something that holds the various elements of a complicated structure together.

 

Ever since Jack had come swooping in like a knight in shining armour to rescue her from a UNIT prison cell, Toshiko had looked to him as a kind of...godly figure. He saved the world constantly and collected broken people like some men collected stamps or coins. He was their boss, yes, but more than that, he was the lowest common denominator that connected everyone at Torchwood Three. Jack was the one that held them together.

So when he vanished immediately after his miraculous resurrection, she was convinced that the Hub would crumble around them. To be completely honest, she was convinced _Cardiff_ would crumble around them.

But it didn’t. Sure, Owen and Gwen bickered like children about who was in charge. The idea that they behave like adults was too much to hope for.

_“I’ve got seniority, Cooper. Even the Tea Boy outranks you!”_

_“The first thing_ you _did with a bit of power was nearly destroy the world!”_

It didn’t seem to matter, though, how much the two of them held their breath or stamped their feet. Somehow, everything still got done.

Tosh wasn’t sure how, exactly, it was happening. They were barely keeping up with the rubbish the Rift was spitting out at them. Owen was neck-deep in bodies to autopsy, Gwen was constantly on the phone with DI Swanson (though she suspected “DI Swanson” was code for “Screw work. I’m chatting to Rhys.”) and she was buried underneath the ‘round the clock surveillance of UNIT.

Ianto had suggested it, in his quiet, discreet way, when he’d come up from his hideaway in the Archives two days after Jack had gone. They didn’t want UNIT knowing their director had vanished, not only because they couldn’t be trusted not to attempt a takeover, but because her own...contract with them had six months left. Without Jack around, they were well within their rights to shove her back in that horrible concrete box.

Everyone was doing their jobs, as always. It just didn’t explain how everything _else_ was getting done, the things Jack normally did.

So she snooped. If you could call it snooping. They were _her_ programs, after all. It only took five minutes and a few keystrokes to check.

Tosh checked their payroll first—which Jack absolutely had to sign off on—only to find that he _had_ signed them, somehow.

Initials on the Retcon logs, signatures on incident reports, even the codes that opened the Secure Archives, all of them were Jack’s. The most recent—approval for a large order of fish—had been approved earlier that morning.

Jack had been gone for six weeks. There wasn’t so much as a hiccup in the paper trail. It was like he’d never left.

The only gap in the paperwork was three weeks ago, when they’d spent a fortnight in the Himalayas chasing after a Yeti that wound up being a very tall man in a very large white coat. If it _was_ Jack somehow running the Hub remotely, there’d be no gap.

Pulling up the CCTV footage for the appropriate timestamps was easy. She started with the dates the Secure Archives were accessed. It was the most guarded of the options.

When she’d noticed something was odd, she’d thought it was Owen or even Gwen, going behind the other’s backs to prove how skilled a leader they really were. It would have been a good tactic, really, because their shouting matches were getting nowhere. ( _“I’m the one the Prime Minister’s office dealt with, Owen Harper! They’ll only want to deal with me now!”_ and _“Saxon’s dead, you twat, and we work for the Queen, not the Prime Minister!”_ )

It didn’t even occur to her that it would be Ianto.

Toshiko was a little disconcerted at how often that happened. He’d faded into the background so quickly after he started that it was a massive shock when the Cyberman had been discovered. He’d stepped right into the shadows when he’d come back from his suspension and she was a bit ashamed to admit that she didn’t think of him much at all until the pendant broadcasted his troubled thoughts to her. Even then, and even after he’d risked his own life for her to escape the cannibals, she’d been too wrapped up in her own drama to pay much mind.

Lately, though, she’d just thought he was sulking about Jack. That kiss had been sweet and dramatic—worthy of a fairy tale or a romance novel—and Ianto had been just as clueless as the rest of them when the Captain had left. She knew she wasn’t alone thinking it—Gwen clicked her tongue and made “Poor _, heartsick lamb_ ” coos and Owen was crude every chance he got.

Determined not to let _this_ situation fall by the wayside, Tosh...well, she stalked him. She followed him around the Hub, from CCTV camera to CCTV camera. She watched him make coffee, file the paperwork and look after Myfanwy and Janet, handle the body swaps, tidying up, everything she was already aware of. But she’d also watched him do Jack’s paperwork. She watched him getting greasy under the bonnet of the SUV, bringing in half-conscious Weevils at three in the morning and quietly fielding calls. Once, he’d disappeared for an afternoon with a backpack and come back smelling like saltwater, but what that was about, she couldn’t begin to guess.

It made her wonder how much of it Ianto had always done and how much was him picking up Jack’s slack. In lots of ways, it felt like he’d always been there, even though he’d only been there for a little over a year.  

She did recall at least three times Jack had forgotten to turn in the payroll and twice the SUV had run out of petrol.

It was a curious thing—in a painful, regret-tinged way—that they’d all spent so long hero-worshipping Jack, so much time thinking he was the thing that kept Torchwood going, when really it had nothing to do with him.

Jack was blusterous, commanding. He made the hard choices and ran headfirst into danger. He was their Captain, their leader and they’d follow him into the very pits of hell, but he wasn’t what held them together.

It was Ianto.                                                                  

Ianto, who skulked in the shadows and asked for so little that it was easy to forget he was even there, save for the happy trilling of a pterosaur with her chocolate treat and the rich aroma of coffee. Ianto, who hides himself and asks for no praise, no recognition and avoids the typical pissing contests.

Ianto Jones kept Torchwood running. She resolved to never forget it, to not let it fall to the backburner. And if Jack came back... _when_ Jack came back, she wouldn’t let him forget it, either.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The prompt word was “Lynchpin.” This was actually one of my favorites to write in this challenge so far. I quite like the idea of Ianto running the place from the shadows. Thanks for reading.


End file.
